The Warrior and the Psychic
by mystjade
Summary: AU Max is hired by a mysterios and tortured young man to prevent the visions that he has from becoming fact. Logan & Max.


Disclaimer: I own nothing as pretty nor as lucrative as dark angel. The plot and original characters are mine.

AU – Some things are the same, most are different.

Authors Note: This is one of three different chapters/stories I am throwing out into the abyss that is the fan fiction universe. Here and elsewhere, the story that gets the most reviews will be the first to be updated. Your Reviews matter (as always)!

Ship: Logan and Max

Wanted one retired dark angel, full time, excellent pay, late nights. If

Interested, please phone (482) 967-1111.

The ad, well a tad enigmatic was hardly illegal in and of itself. Once you started reading between the lines, the truth of the matter came out. Angel's had been discovered about 35 years previous. People that looked and acted like everyone else but had a natural indicator in his or her genes that marked them as someone with the true ability to fight. Angel's were taken at birth from there parents by the government, and trained to fight. They were excellent strategists, brilliant fighters – code named Angeles because they were discovered right in the government's time of need, the answer to their prayer. That wasn't enough to sate the government's appetites so they started to find ways to increase the Angels powers, through gene modification, physical enhancements, anything and everything that was out there. The payoff came in the gene department. You see animal DNA is a virtual gold mine of abilities. Angel's with modifications are called Dark Angels. There are more then 100 in the world, but once upon a time there were 450.

In till we were in our mid twenties, we worked for the government. Long after our own country had stabilized, we were hired out as mercenaries at astronomical prices. Then those that survived were allowed to retire at the ripe old age of 25.

Unfortunately retirement is not all it's cracked up to be, particularly when you didn't make that much money during your actual carrar Also the fact that your existance terrified all those around you, who know your secret doesn't help. It was attached our social security number, once you applied for job there was no way to prevent, everyone from knowing. Then there was no way to stop your fellow employees from staring silently, or jeering, or out right threatening you. That's if you got a job. I was now 27, and I had never held any of my post army jobs for more then two weeks.

The only real market was in the underground, working for the mob, and so such. That's whom (presumably) this ad is from. I am basically a good person, a tad cranky at times, a little hard, but not the kind of person who works for the Mob. Or so I thought. But over the years almost all my old army buddies, my brothers and sisters had found themselves in that line of work. As there were no real other viable options.

I had toyed around with phoning the number, all morning. It was hardly an insignificant step. But I don't really have another option. My rent was due two months ago, Food was getting scarce, and everything was not as it should be. So I dialed the number.

"Hello" the mans voice on the other side, responded. Well at least he didn't sound evil.

"I am enquiring about the job"

"Oh? Well then we should meet. "

"Were?"

"McNally's"

A pub? Maybe he's an Irish mobster, "When"

"Tonight. Does 6 sound good to you?"

"Sure . . .. "

I stepped into the bar, out of the heat, and into the air-conditioned darkness. I didn't know how to recognize him, but evidently he knew how to recognize me. He waved at me from a high booth, I cam closer "are you?"

"The voice on the phone? No, but he sent me."

"That would be oblivious if anyone else said it, but as the source was a 21 year old with hippy hair, I was hardly alarmed. In fact this wasn't at all the meaning I anticipated.

"I'm Mark, the Man on the phones Barista"

"I'm Max"

"That short for anything"

"No, should it be?"

"Usually it is, when the person in question is clearly a women"

I smiled "Really I hadn't noticed. So were is the man on the phone?" I looked around the place, if his barista knew all this, is identity certainly wasn't a secret.

"Oh last minute issues arose, surrounding a paper he is working on"

Was that code for killing someone. I sure hopped it wasn't.

"So why did you call me here? I have my personal file if you need that"

"No need, as the man on the phone otherwise known as Logan ran your name and obtained your personal file based on your voice print."

"Really? That's impressive, why are you here?"

"To answer any questions you might have regarding the job"

"I don't know, job with the mob, seems fairly self explanatory.

Mark collapsed into a fit of laughter. "Logan being mistaken some sort of mob honcho . . . . That has to be the funniest thing I have heard all week.

I almost blushed then stopped myself. This truly was a blessing "So what would I do?"

"You would be a vigilante of sorts he would pay you to do good"

"Really"

"Also I suspect he may need a body guard from time to time"

"I thought you just said he wasn't in the mob?"

"Not only the mob requires bodyguards. Not that he would admit to needing one from time to time. It's probable just the reality of the situation"

"Ok, if I accepted the job, when would I meet him?"

"Tomorrow"

"OK"

"Does that mean you accept?" Mark enquired. I nodded.

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